


Anchor

by Brokenwords



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-07
Updated: 2012-12-07
Packaged: 2017-11-20 12:43:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/585552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brokenwords/pseuds/Brokenwords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He could feel the words pressed into his skin, imprinted blue with every drag of lips and nip of teeth; each finger that sunk into muscle, forcing away stress and tension, laying claim. The unspoken phrases left his breath catching, the pleasurable burn as he was pushed into making him ache in ways that slipped beneath the physical and burrowed a hole into his chest. It wasn't supposed to be like this. This wasn't what Arthur had expected but he was as at fault as anyone. He'd done nothing to stop the other from following him into his hotel room, had wanted to see where it would go, but this... this wasn't anything he could have predicted. Then again, Eames had always possessed the ability to shake his foundations, snap his control and make him feel the fool.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anchor

He could feel the words pressed into his skin, imprinted blue with every drag of lips and nip of teeth; each finger that sunk into muscle, forcing away stress and tension, laying claim. The unspoken phrases left his breath catching, the pleasurable burn as he was pushed into making him ache in ways that slipped beneath the physical and burrowed a hole into his chest. It wasn't supposed to be like this. This wasn't what Arthur had expected but he was as at fault as anyone. He'd done nothing to stop the other from following him into his hotel room, had wanted to see where it would go, but this... this wasn't anything he could have predicted. Then again, Eames had always possessed the ability to shake his foundations, snap his control and make him feel the fool. 

It was too much - everything from performing inception to almost losing everything into limbo and now this - this singular attention just for him. A sob caught in his throat, a hot ball that refused to be swallowed even as he turned his head to the side. It was a vain effort to save his pride, to keep the pleas from slipping past. Fingers, calloused and oh so capable, caught his jaw instead. "Don't look away love, not now." Eames voice sounded _wrecked,_ rough and hoarse, saturated with emotion, so unlike his usual banter.

Something inside Arthur broke, a string wound too tight, pulled too taut. _Snap._ The sob bled from his lips, pouring out red and needy, and it felt far better than Arthur had ever fantasized. As Eames so eloquently put, Arthur lacked the imagination for something so outside the realm of what he deemed acceptable.

This wasn't them, not their carefully manufactured fronts they wore so tight. Eames was always too playful, Arthur always too strict. Maybe in the morning Arthur would try to analyze it, try telling himself it was an act born of desperation to believe this world was the real one, a need to share the intensity born of achieving the impossible. Surely his dreams had never led him to this scene, not in this way. Sex with Eames was never supposed to happen, and if scenarios happened to take place, secretly and only in moments before sleep, they were always either hate-fueled fucks or alcohol-impaired mistakes; the only ways he could ever imagine himself letting Eames in. Never would Arthur have dreamed he would be so uncontrolled or Eames so in command. But now, now he arched into the heavy palm on his belly, the teeth on his throat, the thickness inside him, and he _reveled_ in the new-found unfurling in his limbs, even as they greedily scrambled for purchase over spidery ink and broad shoulders. 

"That's it," Eames praised in a way that should have sounded condescending but instead made Arthur want to curl into the approval and hold it close. Normally, Arthur wrote his own rules, as strict and tidy as the notes he jotted in his moleskin. But Eames, contrary bastard that he was, had no qualms about writing in the margins, scribbling out words and replacing them with his own demands. "That's it darling, let go."

And suddenly, following a script not his own was easy. He fell, down deep and free, out of his mind in a way that would normally terrify him. Somehow though, it wasn't so bad when there were arms wrapped tight around him, guarding him close with a groan, sharp and sounding like his name. 

*

Coming back was harder than letting go. At some point Arthur had squeezed his eyes shut and opening them again, was a frightening thought. Reality was far scarier than dreams. In dreams he could be hurt, even killed, and open his eyes and have it all only a memory, an act in his head with no physical markers. There was no waking up from this moment. He was already conscious with the heat of Eames wrapped around him, stickiness drying on his stomach, and fingers tracing soothingly up and down his side. It was _real_ in a way that terrified him. He didn't know what he would see when he opened his eyes, if the ownership he'd been subjected to would still be apparent or if it was nothing more than another game. Worse, he didn't know which version he honestly hoped to see.

This wasn't something he planned for. Truthfully, it was situations like these that Arthur planned against. You didn't let people too close in this business, not when bullets were a bothersome pastime and death hung around like an old friend. Eames was an associate, an irritating man that loved to scratch his way under Arthur's skin and stay. Cutting barbs and mocking flirtations were their currency, not affection and trust. But that was a lie too because Arthur trusted Eames -- far more than he should. The type of trust that had snuck up over the years until his defenses were down and it was too late to build up walls. Eames was already inside, had been for a while, insinuating himself snug and at home and _somehow_ the thought of him leaving made Arthur's jaw clench. 

A soft kiss, lingering and full, was pressed against the tense line of bone and muscle in response, then another higher, to his cheekbone, another to his temple. "Arthur," his name was whispered, almost reverent. It was enough to make him open his eyes, wary and fearful. What he didn't expect was to see his own fears reflected back. Eames gaze was careful, almost shuttered with cracks of hope and fear showing in the lines of his irises. 

"Eames," he said back as solidly as he could manage, swallowing the lump that had reappeared without him even noticing. 

"Let me stay," A request this time when he hadn't even asked to be allowed in. The whole night, the whole of their acquaintance, he'd done nothing but demand to be seen, be let in. But now, _now_ after he'd gotten what he'd wanted he was finally asking, letting all his insecurities show in three small words. 

Chewing on his lip, raw red and swollen, Arthur wanted to demand he never leave, instead he asked, soft and serious, "For how long?"

"As long as you'll let me."

"I," Arthur swallowed hard, unsure what response was appropriate in such a situation. The kind where he realized that Eames wasn't just a coworker he bickered with. He was a companion he trusted. Someone whose company he only pretended to hate. The one person, even beyond Dom, who had seen him fall apart, mess up, need someone, and was still there asking to stay, to pick up the pieces. "Why now?" he finally breathed. "It's not... I'm not... I don't do this. Normally that is."

Eames smiled, smooth and warm and tinged with amusement. "Darling, I've been trying to get you to let me in from the day we were introduced. I don't plan on letting you go now that I've finally got you." 

"Oh." Arthur had nothing else to say.

"Yeah." Eames face softened even further and, this time, his lips connected with Arthur's own, just as warm and comforting and _possessive_. It made Arthur wonder how he'd never seen it before. Not in Eames, not in himself. He'd been so caught up finding all the details in all their mark's lives he'd missed the biggest one in his own. 

Shifting until his hand was pressed along a stubble lined cheek, he frowned softly and warned, "Its dangerous to have someone." 

"Everything we do is dangerous. It's good to have someone at your back. Someone you trust."

It was so like Eames. He was constantly pointing out Arthur's mistakes, but he offered solutions too in that maddening way of his, calm and teasing and throwing Arthur for a loop. Tonight wasn't any different, except this time... this time Arthur didn't think he minded quite so much.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, there goes my first Inception fic, and its wordy as all else.


End file.
